Three Mississippi
by Psycho Goddess
Summary: “We're all out of second chancesAnd all out of one more times” A confrontation four years in the making. A friendship lay tattered at their feet.


** Title**: Three Mississippi

** Summary**: "We're all out of second chances/And all out of one more times" A confrontation four years in the making.

** Pairings**: Grissom/Sara angst. Because there isn't enough of that kicking around

** Rating**: PG 13

** Category**: Angst/Drama

** Author's Notes**: The song snippet and title come from the song "Three Mississippi". Blame that for this story. And I'm absolutely disgusted with myself. I can't let something just be angsty. Ugh!

Set the day of the 'Butterflied' interrogation. Because two of these weren't enough for me.

** Disclaimer**: If I owned CSI, would I be freezing my butt off in this Godforsaken country called Canada? Probably. But I don't, so I guess we'll never know. 

* * *

  


When Sara first came to Vegas, she saw it as a career opportunity. Who in their right mind would pass up a chance to work at the number two lab in the country? Especially under the tutelage of _The_ Gil Grissom.

The fact she considered him a friend never entered her mind, and she doubted it played any role in the position she was offered. He honestly liked her work. Respected it. Admired it.

And then they worked together and reality came crashing down. Four years was long enough here, too long in fact. She did not consider herself a coward, or someone who ran from their problems. But she sensed it had reached the point where there was no room anymore. 

The others were there, in their way. Warrick, Nick and Greg were friends. Nice guys. Great guys. But guys. And Catherine…. Well, Catherine was absorbed in her own problems half the time. And who could blame her? Single mom with an asshole for a dead ex working the nightshift…it's amazing she wasn't a complete basket case, to be honest.

And that left Grissom. Talk about flogging a dead horse. The man screamed an aura of emotionally detached. And still she felt drawn to him. She hadn't thought it was possible to hate anyone as much as she loathed him. 

So now she sat in his office, resignation in hand, waiting for him. She expected him in ten minutes tops. Debbie Marlin's parents had stopped by, and he was talking to them. A bad idea, given the circumstances. But that was Grissom. Stupid to a fault.

Inexplicably, a song Sara's mother used to sing popped into her head. Funny the way that happened, memories coming back for no apparent reason.

_ One Mississippi, I close my eyes  
Two Mississippi, I'm begging you that we can still survive   
Three Mississippi, No looking back  
Gone for good and I know that I won't change my mind   
Whoaa oh oh yea, Three Mississippi is where I'm at tonight_

She was certainly at a lot more then three today. But it could be classified as three. She liked classifying things, making sense of chaos. It gave her control, power, influence.

Her first Mississippi fell almost two years earlier. Things had inexplicably deteriorated. He _had_ known _her_. Sara Sidle. Then she was just CSI Sidle. He had trivialized her work, her theories… her. Then she had finally lost it. 

Looking back it seemed so inconsequential. Cleaning up an experiment. It may have bothered her, but no worse then some of the bodies she'd seen. It was the mere fact he was so _ oblivious_ to her- He, who would have been able to read her mind not that long ago- he was so oblivious that he didn't even see what was wrong. Then, when she had the courage to face the facts and get out, he had boiled the entire problem down to one dislike.

That _bastard_._  
_ And at one request and a plant – God, she had sold her soul for a _plant_- she was back to suck up more punishment.

And suck it up she did. Right until her mind became so preoccupied she couldn't resist spending an extra thirty seconds near his scent- _his_ scent, because cologne contaminated the crime scene. Then the lab exploded and she figured, _What the Hell_. It was a goddamn _dinner_ invitation and he turned it down.

She should have left then, before things could possibly get more awkward. But at the time she doubted things could get worse. And Sara Sidle wasn't about to quit just because her boss ripped her heart out and stomped on it without a second thought. Nope, not this woman.

But today had been the last straw. The absolute last straw. Minutes after she watched Gil Grissom draw parallels between himself and that… _ murderer_… she had run home, printed off the letter of resignation that had been drafted months earlier and now waited in his office.

He didn't notice her right away, too absorbed in the file he held to see sitting in a chair as if she belonged. She moved, and he looked up. She had waited for that resigned look, savouring the thought of shoving her letter in his face and walking out. His blue eyes were resigned, tired, overworked. How she hated him. She hated the way that she wanted to do nothing but wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him until that look went away. She hated the way her heart increased its tempo at the thought of his raking gaze. She hated the way she still wanted him, lusted for him, pined and burned for his acknowledgement. 

She wished he'd stop looking at her with that anguish dimming his eyes.

"What is it Sara?"

"What are you doing here?" she retorted, anger biting every word.

"You're the one waiting for me," he replied. 

As if that explained anything. He was _not_ getting away with this.

"How long since you slept?"

"That's the stupidest question I've ever heard. I'm going home now. Catherine's even handling the team tonight so I don't have to come in."

That wouldn't stop him. He'd be at the lab before any of them, already combining and rejecting teams for the scenes. And he'd be the last to leave.

She didn't reply, just sat in the chair and twisted the envelope in her hand. 

"What is that?"

Ha! The moment of triumph was at hand. She could give him the letter, telling him in no uncertain words that she was moving on. She could even throw in enough biting comments that he realized she had heard him and didn't care, even if it wasn't part of the script. She could- no, would- stand up, walk out of that office and never look back.

She looked at him, the words poised that the edge of her razor tongue.

It was time.

Just say it.

Now.

"Nothing."

_Nothing_. What was she doing? Silence ruled. Then:

"My place is closer."

"What?"

How he could say those things about her- and she knew they had to be about her- and then act so cool? Anger rose, and she saw the situation clearly.

"Relax Grissom," she said, amazed that her voice was not much louder then normal. Not casual. Not relaxed. Not 'Hey, come have a drink with me. Tough case. We've all been there.' But it certainly wasn't louder.

Remembering his love for reason, she tried to explain herself rationally.

"My apartment is a five minute drive from here. Yours is twenty three. You've just worked three shifts. Do the math."

He obstinately refused to listen, and she spelled it out for him.

"Driving while you're this exhausted is dangerous. I'll drive you to my place; let you sleep some of this off."

He opened his mouth to object and she exploded from her seat.

"Don't even start with me! It's not like I'm going to jump your bones the second you cross the fucking threshold! I won't even be there!" She screamed. "I have a life! On your orders, I may add. My Tae Bo class is this morning. I'll be out of the house for a few hours. Enough time for you to sleep. Then I'll drive you back here, and nobody will be the wiser."

His mouth was still open, and he tried to speak. She cut him off again, still yelling.

"Fuck off Gil-"

_Gil? Since when did she call him Gil? A decade of friendship, and she had never called him Gil. It was always Grissom or Gris. Bugman sometimes; or whatever label someone had jokingly given him. But never Gil. Not once._

He tuned back in to catch the last words of her tirade.

"-and what about Lindsey? I bet Cath will just love to explain that to her. 'Sorry Hun, the only person approaching a father figure you have just drove himself into an 18 wheeler because he was too stubborn to take an offered bed.' You drive like that and you're messing with more then _your_ life. People depend on you. Nick, Warrick, Brass, Catherine, Greg…"

He noted she hadn't mentioned herself, and it stung. Not that he expected her to, but still….

She was in his face now. She reached up, grabbed his ear and pulled. 

"Now you're going to come with me, to sleep off this self-imposed stupidity in my guest room. I will go out, and when I come back in at eleven I'll wake you up so you can leave. Then we'll pretend like it never happened. We'll work the same as always, and you never have to look me in the face again."

He sighed, and she took it as acceptance.

"Very good," she said quietly, releasing the hold she held on his ear. "Now are you going to come like a good boy or do I have to drag you out of here?"

He followed her meekly, silently hoping nobody noticed.

* * *

  


She had opted for loud and angry music as she drove, destroying any chance of him apologizing. She didn't need to hear it. Didn't want to hear it. The adrenaline was still pumping from the confrontation, and she was surprised. She had expected it to have passed, to have been left emotionally drained by the time she reached her car.

The hot tears of frustration she expected to sting her eyes never came.

Never before had she been so glad she had found an apartment so close to the lab. Parking her vehicle, she hopped out, slamming the door forcefully as she did so. She walked to the front door, not bothering to make sure Grissom followed her. She knew he would. 

Once in her apartment, she pointed out the key features.

"Kitchen, which you won't be using. Living room, obviously. Guest room is the door on the right, and the bathroom's at the end of the hall. Get some sleep."

She grabbed her gym bag and left.

* * *

  


After Tae Bo Sara had swum a few laps, to rid herself of the excess energy still coursing through her veins. By the time she came home her stomach was grumbling. She popped a vegetarian pizza into the oven, setting the timer for forty five minutes. She gave the man sleeping in her guest room only brief thought, deciding the extra fifteen minutes would do him well. 

Had she been thinking clearly, she wouldn't have headed for the shower. But she was hot and tired. All she really wanted was to get under the streams of water and wash the chlorine from her hair before her pizza was ready.

Coming out ten minutes later, she wrapped her hair in a towel and the rest of her body in a bathrobe. It should have been enough to make her blush, but the floor length housecoat was about seven sizes to big and the same one she had since college. 

Sara's subconscious all too aptly demonstrated its control over her, and she found herself in the guestroom. Grissom was asleep, and she was surprised to see how relaxed he looked. She fully expected him to lie straight and stiff, the same way children hoping to fool their parents did. 

The urge to lie beside him, to listen as he breathed and feel his heart pumping with a well placed hand was overbearing. 

"Sleepy Grissom," she whispered, stroking his face gently. To wake him up of course. There was no other reason she would want to touch him. Her fingers brushed against his beard, and they tingled. A pure coincidence. Still, that wasn't the way to wake him up.

"Grissom," she said, louder this time. She gently shook his shoulder, and his eyes cracked opened.

Even in the dim light she could feel the intensity of his gaze, and her stomach fluttered. _How long since that happened?_ She wondered incoherently. His hand reached upwards, seemingly on its own accord, and headed towards her shoulder. Time seemed to inch as it crept closer and closer. It finally landed, and she gave a sigh of relief. 

Or would have, had he not leapt like a scalded cat –and whoever thought of that expression had too much time on their hands- the minute his hand landed on her.

"Sorry," he croaked.

The tears she had expected all morning sprung then, and she had to bite her tongue to manage her next words.

"Don't be. It's time to get up."

Her tone was perfectly detached. Rational to a fault. She didn't want to spoil the effect by fleeing the room, so she stood and walked to her bedroom quietly.

* * *

  


By the time Sara had wiped away traces of her tears and was dressed, he was standing in her living room. Studying it. Absorbing it. 

She didn't want to see him at first, and checked on her pizza. A few more minutes and it would be done. Then she could eat- offering him a slice for the sake of civility- and get him out of her house. Then she could pretend it never-

"Is this the plant I sent?" he asked, fingering the leaves of a potted orchid. 

"Yeah," she said. _The only damn plant I've ever had that hasn't died on me. It's a hardy little bastard, that one. I even tried killing it once. Didn't work out._

For a minute she wished she had lied, told him it was from anyone else. But the card was displayed prominently still, and he wasn't stupid.

They were silent again, a common state around them lately. The timer finally buzzed, and Sara grabbed her lunch.

"You want a slice?" she offered. For a minute the politeness she had grown up with grated.

"No thanks."

Then:

"Did you do this yourself?"

He was fingering a pillow slip she was working on. She felt a momentary brush of surprise- since when did she leave her stuff out? Remembering how distracted she had been with the Marlin case, she shrugged it off.

"Yeah. Embroidery."

"I hadn't pegged you for the domestic pursuits."

"My cousin got me into it a few years ago. It's great for relaxing. Very precise, but relaxing. The words at least. Mrs. Grady down the hall decorates them. We give them to one of the women's shelters in town, and the sell them. Raises awareness for violence against women."

He wasn't surprised by this revelation. That woman carried her work everywhere. But at least it was an outside interest. He looked her over, and decided that the Sara in front of him was not the same one he had touched in that bedroom. No way. She really must have been a dream, and physical contact wasn't going to convince him otherwise. He just wished he had realized it sooner-touching her shoulder was the least of his goals.

He looked at the pillow again, and realized she had barely started it.

_Most who plan_...

"What's this one going to say?"

She gave a small smile, realizing the irony of his question. It was something Mrs. Grady had told her once, when she had been upset. Over Grissom, though the older woman hadn't known it at the time.

"'_Most who plan to seek happiness at the eleventh hour die at ten thirty.'_"

She finished the pizza slice she was holding, then put the rest in the fridge for dinner.

Turning to face him, she tried to stifle a yawn. But he noticed.

"You don't have to take me back to the lab. I'll take a cab." 

"Don't bother. Cabs are hell this time of day. Use the guestroom, and I'll drop you off when I go to work."

Both were aware that they were treading on dangerous ground, but they ignored their mental warnings. Maybe it would be a step in the direction of repairing their friendship. Who knew?

………………………………………..

~Complete~

Constructive criticism craved.


End file.
